


you are tired (of things that break)

by starkravingcap



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Steve Needs a Hug, tony is the most beautiful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-26 23:22:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2670200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkravingcap/pseuds/starkravingcap
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They both have nightmares, but sometimes, Steve’s are worse. Tony’s eyes will flicker open in the middle of the night, and the sounds Steve makes as he fights off the monsters make his heart speed up and his palms sweat. He knows those noises like he knows his own voice. They’re rough, broken noises. They’re the opposite of everything Steve is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you are tired (of things that break)

**Author's Note:**

> for katherine.

They both have nightmares, but sometimes, Steve’s are worse. Tony’s eyes will flicker open in the middle of the night, and the sounds Steve makes as he fights off the monsters make his heart speed up and his palms sweat. He knows those noises like he knows his own voice. They’re rough, broken noises. They’re the opposite of everything Steve is. 

Most times, Steve beats them back on his own. He’ll let out a whimper or two, sad noises that come from the darkest parts of him, from the depths of his chest, and then he’ll be suddenly quiet. On worse nights, he flails a little, clenches his fists and flexes his muscles, but most of the time, he falls back into a sleep that’s more or less peaceful. Tony waits for this part, for the silence and the peace, before he rolls over and pours himself into Steve’s arms like cold water, tangling around his middle and enveloping him like fog. 

Other times, Steve isn’t so lucky. The whimpers get louder, more frequent and shattered and irreparably broken, until he’s rolling in the bed, kicking and screaming and crying. Tony always jolts awake instantly, shocked from his sleep by the violence and the shouts and the fear. Nights like these, Tony forgets his own nightmares. Nights like these, New York doesn’t seem so scary. Nights like these, he thinks that maybe it might be easy to breathe after all. 

This is one of the bad nights. Tony’s fast asleep, dreaming of things that for once aren’t negative, aren’t reminders of his past, of the man he used to be. He doesn’t get many of those nights, and he revels in them in the morning, of the uninterrupted sleep and the feeling of being rested. He’s got his back to Steve, legs curled up towards his chest in a ball, arms up under his pillow. Somewhere, in the very back of his mind, he hears the first ragged, breathless noise leave Steve’s mouth. They don’t wake him up at first, just distant noises that he hears but doesn’t register. 

Steve rolls and kicks his knee out, and the balls of his feet connect with Tony’s shin. Tony reels back and his eyes jump open, and suddenly his heart is beating out of his chest, the arc reactor glowing bright and blue against the fabric of the bed sheet. Steve is thrashing, whimpering and moaning and kicking out with legs and feet, and when Tony rolls over shakily, he can see that there are tear tracks on his cheeks, wet and salty. 

“Steve,” he whispers, because this is how it always goes, this is how it starts, “Steve, baby, wake up.”

He doesn’t wake up, which is nothing new, but Tony always figures it’s worth a try. Steve thrusts out an arm, and it hits Tony across the chest. He grunts and shrinks back, but goes right back to the man in his bed. Tony reaches for his shoulders in the dark. The blue glow guides him along, lets him dig his fingertips into Steve’s skin, not hard enough to leave bruises, but enough for the soldier to feel it. 

“Steve,” he tries again, and this time his voice is stronger, louder in the room, “You’re having a nightmare. Wake up.”

“Tony…” Steve whimpers, but he’s not awake, not yet. He’s still fighting the monsters. 

There’s sweat on his skin, a little sheet that makes it hard for Tony to keep the grip on his shoulders for too long. He slides his hands up Steve’s neck, cups his jaw in his hands and runs a thumb across the strong bone and muscle there. Steve’s still thrashing, kicking and slapping, and Tony has to struggle to keep himself from being thrown off, has to hold down Steve’s arms and legs as best as he can. 

“Steve!” He says, and he tries not to scream because he doesn’t want to scare Steve, but it’s not working when he’s quiet and if Steve doesn’t wake up he’s afraid he’s going to get kicked out of bed. Literally. 

He shakes him a little, and suddenly Steve’s eyes snap open, wild and blown black so that there’s only a thin ring of blue visible, and all Tony can see in them is agony. It makes his chest twist tightly, and he can’t help it. Steve takes heavy, gasping breaths, and his arms and legs stop trying to break out from Tony’s hands, and he takes a look around the room. His eyes flit from corner to corner, back to Tony and the fact that he’s on top of him, holding him down into the mattress. It takes him a moment, but when his breathing becomes ragged and shallow, he opens his mouth.

“Tony…” he says, and it’s just like before, soft and whimpered, but this time Steve is very awake, very aware of where he is and what is happening. He sits up, a jerky movement, that pushes Tony backwards a little, onto his haunches, and Steve puts his head down into his hands and breathes deeply.

Tony leans forward and crawls towards Steve on his hands and knees. He reaches out and pries Steve’s hands away from his face, grasping them tightly in his own, and he’s in Steve’s lap now, pressing their bodies together, their foreheads, just until their noses touch and Tony can see right into his eyes. They’re dark blue now, the pupils pinning when he looks at the light of Tony’s arc reactor. It washes his face in blue, shadowing his high cheekbones and the cracks and crevices that make him Steve.

He kisses Steve’s nose, and moves down to the corners of his eyes and his cheek and the side of his mouth, and finally his lips, gentle open mouthed kisses that ease Steve’s shaking and slow his breathing. When they pull apart, Tony grabs Steve’s head in his hands and strokes his thumbs along Steve’s strong jawline. 

“Nightmare,” Tony whispers to him, staring right into the baby blues. It’s strange to see them like this, shattered and open – Steve uses a shield as a weapon, but he himself is a shield, strong and unbroken until the monsters come to him at night. Tony brushes his thumbs over the tears that are slowing, wipes them away, and he can see just how vulnerable Steve is, “It was a nightmare. You’re here.”

Steve clutches Tony to him, his strength making Tony’s bones ache, but he doesn’t move. He lays there, pressed into Steve’s chest, until Steve takes in a heaving breath and kisses Tony’s hair. 

“What happened?” Tony asks after a long while, leaving a trail of kisses down Steve’s chest, “You can tell me. You’re okay now.” 

“Bucky,” Steve chokes out the word, ragged with torn edges, “The train. The train, the snow. Peggy,”

Tony reaches up and pets his hair, running fingers through the fine, blond mess. The muscles in Steve’s back are tense, hard against Tony’s fingers, and he trails his hands downward to his wrists, rubbing circles on them with his thumbs until they are pliant. He takes Steve’s upturned, vulnerable hands in his hand guides them to his chest, putting them over the arc reactor, splaying his fingers. 

“There are no monsters here,” Tony says, softly, and he wants nothing more than to soothe this man, to make it all go away, to hold him until he falls asleep, “Just me. It’s me, Steve. Tony.” 

Steve nods slowly, like a child learning something for the first time, and he’s not meeting Tony’s eyes, but staring into the brilliant light that shines from Tony’s chest. It takes another couple minutes, but eventually Tony convinces Steve to lie down, to curl on his side, and he lets Steve wrap his arms around his middle and hold him close. Steve molds into the curve of Tony’s spine and settles there, breathing hot air over the plane of his back. 

He falls asleep clutching Tony tighter than he ever has before. He doesn’t dream again that night, only gives his warmth and takes the comfort that comes in the form of Tony’s body. Tony doesn’t sleep again – he can’t get the images of Steve thrashing around out of his mind, the kicking and screaming like he’s being chased, and he wants Steve to know that no one is chasing him but _Tony_. 

They wake up together, and Steve kisses him on the mouth gently, the sun streaming in through the curtains. They lie there, limbs tangled in limbs, until Steve gets up to go to the kitchen, and Tony comes with him, and they sit in the kitchen together sipping on hot coffee. 

There are no monsters here.


End file.
